


out of love

by rosegoldwritings



Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Sex, Lots of it, M/M, basically they're all rich and fucked up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 23:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11702322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegoldwritings/pseuds/rosegoldwritings
Summary: hanbin isn't weak enough to fall for love. there's more important things, he knows, it's not worth his time. that won't stop bobby from trying.





	out of love

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone! i know i've been gone for so long. to be honest i've been having a really hard time writing and this is all that came out of it so...hopefully you like it! thank you to everyone who read golden and asked for the rest, it will be coming! 
> 
> (quick warning - hanbin is underage in some of the flashback scenes. if you need to know more please ask! i want everyone to be safe and comfortable.)

Hanbin wakes up to soft yellow light coming through the window and an empty space next to him in the bed. Junhwe usually isn’t gone by now and it makes his heartbeat pick up for reasons he can’t understand, or want to understand. He should be used to this.

He pads softly into the kitchen to catch him looking much too sultry for 9 am on a Sunday, glowing skin and smudged eyeliner contrasting with his light blonde hair, but looking good nonetheless. Hanbin silently joins him at the table where he picks at a plate of fruit, looking much too normal for someone who, in one word, Hanbin just thinks of as _expensive._

He pours himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table and takes a sip in silence, trying to remember something, anything. He can’t remember if there was a reason he came or what they were doing. He’s vaguely aware of the aching in his body, but that’s nothing new. It happens whenever he pays Junhwe a visit.

Hanbin brings the glass up to his lips and looks briefly over the rim to see Junhwe carefully watching him. He sets it back down and doesn’t look away. He has no words, and not nearly enough coherent thoughts to form a question. Finally, it’s Junhwe who breaks the silence.

“Did you sleep well?”

He pauses before answering.

“Yeah.”

Junhwe nods, cutting into an apple with care. “That’s good.”

Hanbin has been around too long, knows to be wary of innocent small talk like this. He nods too. “Yeah.”

Junhwe lets a calculated moment pass before continuing. “I know I usually stay around, but I’m going to be busy. I just wanted to say goodbye this time.”

And something in Hanbin switches on like it’s been conditioned to. He knows what that means. He immediately gets out of his chair across from Junhwe and slides in the one next to him, eyes suddenly darker, voice heavier.

This time when Hanbin wakes up, it’s to a handwritten letter from Junhwe. He stares at folded piece of paper in anticipation, heart skipping a beat in surprise, expectation, hope, maybe all three, hesitant to open it and ruin the wishful thinking.

His stomach knots up when he reads the words _lock up when you leave. -JH_

Hanbin sinks back down into the mattress and tries to suppress the aching in his core. He doesn’t want to think about it. There’s nothing to think about.

 

Hanbin finds himself back in his producer’s chair in his private studio in Seoul, courtesy of Junhwe, not a week later. This had been one of the many lavish things he’d been gifted with throughout the years they’d know each other, and the only one he hadn’t been reluctant to accept. The others, all materialistic, like diamond encrusted watches and gold chains and even a brand new car he hadn’t known how to drive at the time, had felt way too impersonal. This, though, was set aside for him the moment he arrived, a fully equipped studio on the executives’ floor of the company building. Hanbin had once thought it was a generous gesture from Junhwe after recognizing his talent and ambition. That was when Hanbin was younger, more naïve. When he still thought Junhwe had actually loved him.

A knock on the door echoes just as Hanbin is about to give this new demo a listen. He leans back and calls, “it’s open,” without turning around to see who it is. When the person slips inside and pulls up another chair too close to have any considerations for personal space, Hanbin knows it’s Junhwe. Junhwe rests one hand on his thigh and reaches for a music sheet on the desk with the other, placing it in front of himself without really looking at it.

“My dad said there’s some bigshot producers coming by later,” Junhwe says casually, still not glancing up once. “If you wanted to meet them, I’m sure they’d be interested. They mentioned you.”

“They did,” he replies. It’s supposed to be a question, but he phrases it as a statement, because there’s no doubt in his mind that they _did._

“Yeah. Did you want to meet them?” Junhwe repeats.

Hanbin’s mouth twists as he studies Junhwe, eyes still on the music sheet but not moving. It’s not like he needs to look it over anyway. Hanbin has never once needed approval from any of the higher ups during his composing. It’s probably caught the attention of some others in the company, who are years and years his senior and don’t have nearly the freedom he has, but he barely sees them anyway. Let them assume what they will.

“I have a lot of work to do,” he finally says by way of an answer. It doesn’t matter how important they are. He’ll have a hundred more opportunities to meet more influential people with Junhwe like this.

Junhwe gives a single nod and slides his hand up to rest on top of Hanbin’s. “That’s understandable. I don’t want you to fall behind.” 

Hanbin glances at where their hands are intertwined, wondering just what else Junhwe has on his mind that’s drawing out all his affection (or, what’s affection on the surface.) They’ve been intimate, yes, but rarely is it this gentle and utterly chaste. He gets his answer a few moments later, when Junhwe draws in a deep breath to speak again.

“You know, there is someone I’d really like you to meet, though.”

Hanbin doesn’t think it even requires a response, because that’s most of what Junhwe does. Introduce him to people, elevate him higher and higher, throw money and connections his way until he’s not sure what to do with it all. There’s so many producers and composers and singers and label owners he’s met over the years that he couldn’t distinguish one from the other if he saw them again. But Junhwe’s hand is still clasping his own, and it doesn’t look like he has any ulterior motives except for this one, so Hanbin decides it’s better to find out.

“Who?”

“There’s someone new joining the company,” Junhwe says casually, in stark contrast with the way Hanbin feels. He sits up straighter, no longer hiding the way he’s watching Junhwe with interest. There hasn’t been anyone new since he came three years ago as Junhwe’s personal pick. He’s almost scared to learn what this means for him. They’ve never been in a relationship; whatever this thing is between them has always been ambiguous and kept in the dark, never openly talked about, but it’s not a relationship. It has been something Hanbin has grown too used to over the years to throw out now, so much a part of him like his own limbs. It might as well be. He looks up at Junhwe with wide eyes and a slightly agape mouth in a rare moment of vulnerability, the question in the air between them without having to verbalize it. 

“Just someone my dad recruited,” he adds on, filling the silence and somewhat calming Hanbin’s fears. “I thought you would get to like to know him.”

 _Well, no,_ Hanbin feels like saying, _I wouldn’t,_ and for a million good reasons. Or reasons he convinces himself are good, but mostly he’s content up here, working on whatever he needs to and having no one interfere. He knows in the back of his mind there’s more immature reasons; he doesn’t want this taken away, doesn’t want to be replaced as the center of Junhwe’s affections, and he definitely doesn’t want to share. He doesn’t say any of it out loud.

“I guess I can,” he says back, shrugging. “When?”

“He’s coming on Saturday. I thought I’d let you know early if you needed to clear up your schedule.”

Hanbin thinks Junhwe is going to walk out then, but he grabs the arm on Hanbin’s chair to swivel him so that he’s facing Junhwe. His mouth drops open a little at the sharp grin Junhwe is wearing as he gets a firm grip on Hanbin to pull him into his lap. Hanbin’s stomach twists in a funny way, completely lost at this point and not sure if Junhwe will kiss him or slap him or make him do other things he’s no stranger to by now.

Not that Hanbin ever minded. He practically chose this for himself. His body goes completely slack as he fists the hem of Junhwe’s designer button up shirt, willing and pliant, their earlier conversation lost in some other corner of his brain as he waits for whatever comes next.

 

Hanbin is in the same studio a week later with a few in-house producers, none of the fancy foreign ones Junhwe had been sending him to meet recently. They keep _talking,_ he thinks distantly, replaying the same snip of the track over and over, and it’s beginning to bother him.

“I want to try doing it like this,” one of the men in the chairs next to him said as they moved the slider down a little farther. Hanbin was still disoriented and exhausted from jetlag. He’d go through it later without them.

There’s a polite knock on the door and Hanbin wants to thank God for whoever is saving him right now. A head of bleached blonde hair and a winning smile wave in the window. He immediately gets up to unlock it.

“I know you must be busy,” Junhwe says graciously to the two producers turned around to face him. “I need Hanbin for a minute.”

They wave him off and say something about being perfectly fine working alone. There’s nothing they can say to Junhwe anyway. He owns all of this, and probably them.

As soon as the door shuts behind them Hanbin feels his body fill with something he can never quite name. It’s the same feeling he always gets when Junhwe asks to see him alone. Icy and hot all at once. Not nervous, not dread, but there’s still a _feeling_ in his stomach. It dissipates as they head downstairs to the main floor of the building instead of up, to his office.

As soon as Hanbin walks into the lobby he registers a new face. This boy isn’t part of the makeup crew, the choreographers, the vocal trainers. He frowns and feigns a puzzled look, easily letting his arm slip into Junhwe’s.

“Remember when I said I wanted you to meet someone?” Junhwe smiles charmingly and Hanbin’s angry with himself for the way his heart beats faster in his chest, still enchanted by that smile after everything. “He should be coming—ah! There.”

Hanbin follows Junhwe’s gaze to where a boy is crossing the lobby. He has a sharp jawline and collarbones visible underneath is white t-shirt, faintly glowing, tan skin that compliments his painstakingly styled dark brown hair. Everything about him is all angles and hardness except his eyes. They’re bright, excited, so full of life it’s obvious from across the room. Something about those eyes make Hanbin’s heart jump in his chest. He can’t name what he’s feeling. He hasn’t felt it in years, not really.

“Bobby!” Junhwe grins, flashing his overly-white teeth. “This is the boy I wanted to introduce you to. His name is Hanbin.”

Bobby’s friendly smile falters as his eyes slowly meet Hanbin’s. Hanbin just stares back, knowing full well he shouldn’t be, but unable to look away. He looks exactly like he used to. Maybe taller, more grown into those muscles his thin clothes aren’t doing anything to hide, but his presence is striking. That’s all Hanbin can register as he forces himself to tear his eyes away and back towards Junhwe. 

Junhwe pauses before speaking. If he suspects anything, he doesn’t say it.

“Can’t wait to get started. Let’s go.” 

Hanbin swallows and turns on his heel to follow him, not sparing Bobby another glace.

 

Hanbin wakes up the next morning to the sun already pouring into his room. He rubs his eyes and thinks it’s got to be at least noon. His alarm didn’t go off and there’s no text from Junhwe asking why he hasn’t shown up, but then again, most rules generally don’t apply to him. He almost pulls the comforter away before everything that’d happened the previous day hit him.

Bobby. After so many years, he’d just strutted right back into Hanbin’s life without so much as a _hello, nice to see you again._ No acknowledgement except for a knowing look and a smile that gave the sun a run for its money. 

Hanbin forces himself out of bed and drags himself to the bathroom to brush his teeth, foregoing a shower completely. He doesn’t know how he’s going to see Bobby every day from now on and still maintain any semblance of self-composure. He knows Junhwe’s waiting for him, though, so he stumbles out of his apartment, still half dazed.

There’s a lady at the front desk who tells him Junhwe’s looking for him. No surprise. He takes the elevator right to his studio, knowing that’s where he must be, and flings open the door haphazardly. Hanbin yawns and rubs at his tired eyes, then stops suddenly when he sees the boy in the chair next to Junhwe.

“Hanbin!” Junhwe exclaims, motioning him to the chair in between where he and Bobby are seated, either oblivious to or blatantly ignoring his mood. Hanbin can’t think of a good enough excuse at the moment to get away, and Junhwe probably knows them all, anyways. He reluctantly takes a seat and lets Junhwe throw a casual arm over his shoulder.

He notices Bobby’s lingering eyes but pretends not to as Junhwe begins talking. Hanbin tries focusing, but something is aggravating him, ticking in the back of his head until he feels like he’s about to explode.

As soon as Junhwe leaves the room, Hanbin starts to turn away and grab a pen. Junhwe doesn’t know the situation he’s put him in, but right now, he’s angry with him for it. Hell if Hanbin will deal with this. He can feel Bobby studying him from where he sits to his side, which only serves to infuriate him more. There’s no reason he should have to put up with this. Hanbin slides his chair back, getting ready to rise, then—

Too late.

There’s a firm grasp on his arm and Bobby, closer than he as ten second ago, looks at him with a serious expression Hanbin doesn’t want to think about.

“Hanbin,” he says simply.

“We’re here to work,” he replies in attempt to shut down whatever it is Bobby has to say.

“I haven’t seen you in forever. I missed you,” he adds, quieter.

His words are so honest, his intentions are so kind, just like they had been years ago. Hanbin wonders how someone could stay so good after so much time. He’d certainly changed, and can’t understand why Bobby doesn’t see it. Or _does_ see it and keeps trying, which is somehow worse.

“Yeah. It’s been a while,” he says flatly.

Bobby tilts his head up and smiles. “Then tell me what you’ve been up to. We haven’t gotten to catch up at all.”

“This,” Hanbin replies curtly, turning his attention to the lyric book in front of him.

“What we used to do all the time,” Bobby says, with a _I-know-something-you-don’t grin._ Hanbin feels vaguely unsettled, but scowls and rolls his eyes. “You were always good at writing lyrics. Can I see?”

“I’m not done yet.”

“I can help you,” he offers. 

“No thanks. I think I can handle this alone.” 

“You’re just as stubborn as ever.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hanbin snaps, tempted to say much worse, but he bites in tongue in a rare display of self control. 

Bobby seems to be fazed by his attitude for a whole ten seconds, scoots closer almost immediately. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

Hanbin bites the inside of his cheek so hard he thinks he draws blood. “I’m busy,” he says sharply, wondering just how much meaner he has to be for Bobby to leave him alone. “You have your own work to do, why don’t you try doing that?” He side eyes Bobby just to drive the point home, hoping it clearly delivers the message. In the corner of his vision Hanbin can see Bobby’s face fall. His gaze lingers for another few moments, but he breathes in deeply and reaches for his own notebook like Hanbin had suggested, mouth twisting and shoulders slumping when he turns his chair away.

Hanbin has never liked having an audience in his studio when there’s personal work to be done, so he tries to ignore Bobby’s presence as he writes. It’s easy at first, but then Bobby is tapping his pen, twisting back and forth is his chair, even his breathing is too loud. Hanbin doesn’t want to snap again, doesn’t even want to acknowledge Bobby’s existence or give him the time of day. But he can feel his blood boiling under his skin with every little movement and finally, slams his pencil down on the desk and turns towards him.

“What are you doing?”

“What?” Bobby’s eyes widen slightly and his brows furrow, genuine confusion and curiosity. “I’m working. Like you told me to.”

“Not—“ Hanbin huffs out a breath, not even sure what to say. “Just do your work and stop making noise,” he finishes irritably. 

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Bobby says, but makes no move to turn back away. Hanbin glares, but he’s still too close for comfort. He can’t be this clueless.

“Actually,” Bobby continues, “I want your opinion. Look at this line. Should I get rid of it?” He holds out his notebook in Hanbin’s direction and looks at him with eyes that remind him of a child waiting for their parent. Big and expectant. Hanbin just keeps staring.

“Hanbin.”

He shuts his eyes and turns facing straight. He doesn’t have to deal with this. He feels a hand gently touch his forearm and jerks away, not needing to see Bobby’s face to know there’s hurt and confusion written all over it. That would’ve broken his heart at one point. A time when he was the one protecting him from ever feeling that way.

“Hanbin,” he repeats, voice cracking. “I missed you.” He’s so much softer, worn down, carefree façade stripped down to this. There’s a sharp lurch in Hanbin’s chest this time upon hearing the utter _hurt_ there and he has to force himself to keep his head down, don’t look. It aches. His instinct has always been to protect him, but he quickly buries it under years of anger and resentment until he’s almost fuming again.

Hanbin opens his mouth to tell Bobby to go back to work when the doorknob fumbles from the outside and swings open. Junhwe steps inside and all the previous confessions seem to leave in place. Bobby’s face has lifted just a little, although Hanbin can still see the traces of sadness in the creases under his eyes, he won’t put it on display while Junhwe is here.

“So,” Junhwe says, taking his seat back next to Hanbin. “Can I see what you got done?”

“Actually,” Hanbin says, abruptly standing up, “I was just about to leave.”

Junhwe doesn’t question it or call him back. He’ll come visit later. Hanbin hurries out of the room, feeling the eyes of both boys on his back, and slams the door shut.

 

Hanbin thought he could avoid Junhwe after that. He should’ve been smarter. There was never any avoiding Junhwe. He finds himself back in Junhwe’s penthouse only a few days later, staring at the plush white rug, knowing that even from the beginning, there was no avoiding him. There was a point, he recalls, where it had been incredible to see it all, when he had been so captivated and let Junhwe use that to his advantage. That felt like lifetimes ago. Too far removed from the present to think about anymore.

The first time Hanbin met Junhwe, he had been seventeen and still susceptible to the world. He’d been at a party with his old company when Junhwe approached him, looking the closest Hanbin thought he’d seen to God. Hanbin, not knowing any better, had stared back with wide eyes.

Junhwe had introduced himself with the million-dollar smile Hanbin had seen in photos and told him he was interested. Hanbin, from a small company with no exposure and a wild eagerness to advance himself, was thrilled. Junhwe could do everything he ever wanted, everything he dreamt about, effortlessly.

Hanbin went back with Junhwe after the event that night. It was every bit as grand as he thought it would be; chandeliers, velvet furniture, crystal wineglasses on the dining room table with bottles labeled _1920._

Junhwe took him straight past arched doorways, frosted glass windows and open balconies to a surprisingly normal looking room. Immediately after Hanbin stepped inside, Junhwe turned on him and closes the door. Hanbin’s breath is taken with it.

Junhwe stretches out on his bed leisurely, closing his eyes.

“I’m glad we both see things the same way.”

Hanbin swallows thickly. Junhwe doesn’t say anything else.

“Thank you,” he finally replies, unmoved from the spot he’d been standing when he walked in. “It means a lot Mr—um, Junhwe.”

A small grin appears on Junhwe’s lips. “You don’t need to be so formal. I want to help you, Hanbin.”

Hanbin isn’t entirely innocent, but more than anything, he wants to trust Junhwe. He takes a step forward. Junhwe pats the bed next to him, beckoning him even further.  
All Hanbin can think about is how Junhwe can help him. How he could give him everything he couldn’t give himself.

Hanbin takes another step.

 

He’s sitting on a balcony on one of the top floors of the building, listening to one of his own works in progress through his headphones and watching the bustle of Seoul beneath him, when a shadow falls right beside his chair. He looks behind him and takes one headphone out, expecting to see Junhwe. His body goes rigid when he sees Bobby standing in the sliding glass doors. Hanbin puts his headphones back in and faces the streets again.

Bobby comes and sits on the wooden floor next to his chair. He sees out of the corner of his eyes Bobby’s own looking up at him, but refuses to look back. He’ll leave soon enough, Hanbin figures, but five minutes pass, then ten, and he’s still sitting there and staring. Hell if Hanbin will let him ruin his alone time.

“Hey, Bobby,” he says, pulling a headphone out again, “can you go inside? Junhwe probably has a lot of work for you.”

“I wanted to talk. What’s up?”

“Nothing. Go do your work, you’re going to put us all behind.”

“I’ll stay late today.” A moment passes, then he points at a building in the distance that slightly sticks out in the skyline, lights flashing at the top. “You see that building?” He smiles at Hanbin, then looks back out at it. “I’ve always wanted to go there. It’s a shopping center, and there’s supposed to be a museum in there. Really good view of the city. I’ve just never had the time,” he adds, then glances at Hanbin again like he expects him to say something. When he doesn’t, Bobby presses his lips together and tries again. He moves closer to Hanbin’s chair and cranes his neck to see his phone. “What’re you listening to?”

“Music,” he says curtly, yanking the phone away.

Bobby’s shoulders drop and he frowns, dejected. He reminds Hanbin of a kicked puppy. He should feel sorry, but he doesn’t.

“I wanna be friends again,” Bobby pipes up, trying to mask the sadness in his voice. “We’re finally together again, in the same company, don’t you remember…”

“Yeah, I remember. I wish I didn’t.”

“Huh…” He swallows, red beginning to ring his eyes. “This isn’t you.”

Hanbin remembers all too clearly the way they spent hours together doing nothing, laying on a couch and watching TV, all the time they spent locked up together in the studio, when they frequented cheap ramen shops and corner stores for whatever they could afford on their meek salary as unknown musicians. Those days were far behind Hanbin, and he had no interest in reliving them.

“Jiwon, people change. That’s how the world works.” He can’t help himself from raising his voice. “I don’t need you anymore!”

Bobby usually isn’t one to hold in his emotions, Hanbin recalls, but he holds in the tears as he leaves the balcony and disappears down the hall. When he’s sure he’s gone, Hanbin takes the elevator straight down to the lobby and leaves the building, heading for his own penthouse then immediately the liquor cabinet. He’s disgustingly rich, he thinks angrily, opening his second bottle of whiskey from nineteen thirty something. This is everything he’s ever worked for, everything he’s ever wanted.

No, he doesn’t need Bobby.

 

Hanbin tries to avoid Bobby, and Junhwe, for as long as he can. He goes straight to his studio every day and puts on his headphones, never taking them off even when he’s writing, and tells every visitor who needs to meet with him that he’ll catch them at another time. At one point, some unimportant staff member stands feebly in his door, probably terrified to be the unlucky one to have to deliver more repetitive messages to Kim Hanbin, and tells him Junhwe wants to see him. His response is the same. _I’ll find him later._

He should’ve known there was no avoiding Junhwe.

He slips unnoticed into the studio only a few hours later, the only person in this whole damn building besides Hanbin with a key, and takes a seat next to him. He lifts one headphone off his ear and gives Junhwe an irritated side glance. “Yes?”

Junhwe isn’t affected at all. He leans in closer with his own annoyingly wide grin spread across his face and takes one side of the headphones in each hand, sets them down on the desk, then lets one hand return to cup Hanbin’s cheek. 

“What? Don’t want to talk to me?”

Well, Hanbin isn’t affected either. “I already know what you want. I’m busy,” he bites back.

“I just wanted to see you. You haven’t talked to me in days.” He traces Hanbin’s jaw lightly and lets his fingers fall from his face, eyes flickering down to his lips then back up to his eyes, and Hanbin tries hard not to come apart underneath that hungry gaze he’s come to know so well. It’s second nature to him at this point. When Junhwe initiates, he reciprocates. It’s always been that way, no matter how hard he tries to escape it.

“You’ve been off lately,” Junhwe continues, taking his hands to lace into Hanbin’s. He doesn’t pull away. “Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

Hanbin averts his gaze and chews on his lip, too lost in thought and maybe his own nerves to speak. He doesn’t get nervous; this newfound problem in his life was just working him up too much. Junhwe is still staring intently into his eyes as he waits for an answer.

“I’m busy,” Hanbin finally says, “and it’s stressing me out.”

“Busy.” Junhwe begins rubbing his thumb on the top of Hanbin’s hand and uses his other arm to wrap around the small of his back, drawing him closer and pressing Hanbin’s head into his neck, and hums lowly. “I’ve seen you when you’re busy. You don’t crack under pressure, and it’s what I admire most about you, you know that?”

There it is. The too-calm tone of voice and the gentle gestures, a mockery of real love, being twisted into something much sicker below the surface. But he can’t remember a time he’s lived without it, so he always sinks into it.

“Well, I’m stressed out,” he says quieter, hating himself for the way he lets Junhwe get to him.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” He brushes a piece of hair out of Hanbin’s face. “Is it Bobby? You seem so tense ever since he got here.”

Hanbin sighs and feels a strange surge in his stomach, then forces it down and shrugs. “He’s clingy. I like to be alone.”

“Mm.” Junhwe keeps brushing his hair, but all Hanbin can think about is Bobby and what Junhwe doesn’t know. Of course fate would have it that he appears here, all these years later.

There must be no avoiding Bobby, either.

**Author's Note:**

> this was interesting to write because i've never tried anything like this even though i've had it in my head for a while. the characterization was a little tricky in some parts so hopefully i nailed it and got it across how i meant to! leave comments/let me know if this is something you guys wanna see!


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